


I Ain’t Fraid Of No Ghosts

by HeckinaHandbasket



Series: Heck of a Halloween [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove is a 1950s greaser ghost, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Coming Out, Gay Billy Hargrove, Hop In This Handbasket We’re Going To Heck, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Listen I know it’s a ghost fic but I promise a happy ending okay, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reference to past character death but nothing graphic, Rimming, Steve Harrington is just his pastel 1980s self, Steve has a poltergeist he’d like to bang basically, Voyeurism, Welcome to my spooky ghost fic, because Billy’s a ghost, like really so much rimming the prompt for this was haunted rimjob so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeckinaHandbasket/pseuds/HeckinaHandbasket
Summary: So, the house was haunted.Supposedly.“Stigmatized.” according to the real estate agent, who hovered nervously on the front porch while Steve took a look inside.Nothing special, really.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Heck of a Halloween [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967533
Comments: 24
Kudos: 305
Collections: Haunted Harringrove





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to SheWritesDirty for the prompt “haunted rim” that we all took in wildly different directions. 👻👅💦
> 
> Thanks to lostnoise for beta reading and combing through the unfiltered trash pile to pick out only the best trash bits for the rest of y’all. 
> 
> I hope you like horny ghost boys and rimming because that’s what’s on offer here today, folks.

So, the house was haunted.

Supposedly.

“Stigmatized.” according to the real estate agent, who hovered nervously on the front porch while Steve took a look inside.

Nothing special, really.

It didn’t seem particularly haunted. Not like a gothic mansion or creaking Victorian house might.

It was just a small, squat stucco ranch home built in the 1930s. The perfect size for a single guy striking out on his own.

Not to mention the price.

“Ten thousand? For the whole house?”

He pitched his voice to be heard through the open front door as he walked around the empty living room, squinting at a patched hole in the wall about the size and height of a man’s fist.

“Yes, or-or best offer.”

The realtor was backing down the steps now, eyes fixed on something just past Steve’s shoulder, which was, okay. Very creepy.

He checked, just in case, but there was nothing.

“Are they serious? Just because some guy died here like thirty years ago? People die in houses all the time.”

Something crashed in the empty bedroom off to Steve’s left and the realtor jumped down onto the sidewalk, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

“Yes, well. There have been complaints, about the property.”

Steve looked into the bedroom, finding a picture frame broken on the floor, the square of paint where it had been hanging now a paler shade of blue than the wall around it.

He picked up the frame, smiling a little at the old photo behind the broken glass. Kinda looked like a blonde Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Steve would have been very into that, if he was like three decades older. This guy was older than his dad by now.

“Huh. This nail must’ve come loose.”

The realtor chirped a wavering sound of agreement from the sidewalk, standing two steps from her sensible Toyota like she couldn’t wait for Steve to leave.

Which was kinda rude, really.

He tossed the photo back to the ground, stepping over the broken glass and through the living room to get to the porch.

He turned at the base of the steps to peer thoughtfully at what was, hopefully, his very first home purchase, hands on his hips.

“Alright, well. Let’s offer five thousand for it and see if they tell me to go fuck myself.”

The realtor screamed as the front window shattered into a thousand tiny, glittering pieces to rain down on the lawn at Steve’s feet.

Welp.

If they took the five thousand at least Steve would have some extra left over to fix it up.

They took three.

Thousand.

Three thousand dollars out of pocket (or rather, trust fund) and Steve owned his very own home outright.

“Bachelor pad!” Dustin crowed over the phone delightedly from his crowded dorm room.

“Rat-hole,” his mother pronounced with a disdainful sniff, refusing to get out of her Mercedes in Steve’s new ’bad neighborhood.’

Which, honestly, hadn’t even seen a murder since some poor guy got whacked in Steve’s house like forever ago.

It was perfect.

His dad gave him all the old rec-room furniture so his mom could redecorate again.

So Steve ended up with a pretty nice black leather couch, glass and chrome tables, and the smaller TV.

No dining set but, like, who was he going to be cooking for?

Plus he kept his old bed, set up in the bigger of the two bedrooms, his desk in the smaller one as some sort of makeshift office/cardboard box storage.

One of the cardboard boxes was sacrificed to cover the hole in the front window.

That was next on the list of repairs.

Right after Steve fixed the kitchen sink.

Which, he totally knew what he was doing.

He had a wrench and everything.

He struggled with the pipes well into the evening before finding the clog and getting it to drain again, kicking and cursing, half inside the cabinet.

His back was sore when he finally got out, tossing his wrench onto the counter to stretch his sore muscles.

Arms up over his head with a groan, then down to touch his toes and hold the stretch.

“Nice.”

Steve fell over sideways, scrambling to his feet to find the source of the voice.

Nobody.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Steve peered around the corner into the living room. Not a living soul.

He rolled his eyes at himself before finishing his stretches and heading back into the kitchen to clean up.

It was cold in there. Unseasonably so.

He packed up his tools and washed his hands, leaning against the counter with one of his moms old dish towels.

Which he promptly dropped at the sound of a warm male voice.

“Boo.”

The lights cut out.

If Steve had screamed like a twelve year old girl, no one would have blamed him. But, he totally didn’t. Do that.

He just.

Let out a dignified noise of surprise.

And then another when the voice started laughing with a sharp edge of hysteria.

You know what?

It was warm outside.

A good night to sleep in his car.

The morning brought sunshine and clarity along with a sore back.

Steve marched back into his house wielding his trusty nail bat.

“Alright, listen up spook. I don’t care who you are, this is my house now. It’s time to hit the road.”

He held the bat up over his shoulder, glaring menacingly at the empty room.

A can of beer on the kitchen counter exploded, spraying in all directions, and Steve nearly dropped the bat. He adjusted his grip, taking a step closer to the kitchen.

“I said, get out, ghost face!”

The rest of the window all around the cardboard patch shattered, falling half in and half out of the house.

Steve approached the window slowly, glass crunching beneath his sneakers, grinding it into the hardwood floor.

“Last chance. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make like a banana and split!”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a nerd.”

Steve spun on his heel at the sound of the voice right behind him, bat swinging into—

Nothing.

Nobody there.

He glared at the empty space before dropping the head of the bat to the floor with a clinking thud.

“You maybe wanna stop breaking all my shit, Slimer?”

Steve’s dinner plate flew across the kitchen counter into the wall, shattering into pieces.

He looked over at the mix of pasta and porcelain now stuck to the wall and shrugged, dropping the bat with a thud.

“Alright. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Steve walked over to his stereo and picked out one of his favorite albums, the one that made his dad threaten to unplug his speakers.

The upbeat vocals of WHAM filled the house as Steve reached out to crank it up.

He started dancing like nobody was watching.

Steve was really getting into it when the voice sounded directly in his ear, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

“Turn that shit off!”

Steve just danced harder, adding some bump and grind to his movements in opposition of the tempo, making sure that they were just close enough to be irritating. This method had prompted his friends, universally, to threaten to break his legs.

“I could do this all day, Casper. Thought I told you to get out.”

He wiggled his way into the next song before the voice huffed in his ear again.

“Billy. And I can’t. Asshole.”

Steve stopped dancing, blinking at the empty room.

“Oh.”

Shit. That had never occurred to him. What if the ghost didn’t want to be here any more than Steve wanted to have him around?

“You mean, you’re stuck here?”

“Not quite as dumb as you look, huh?”

Steve frowned as he turned off the music and picked the bat back up, eyeing the air around him suspiciously.

“Okay, Billy. I’m Steve, and I live here, now. So, could you, like. Cut it out with the breaking things? It sucks, man.”

The can on the sopping wet counter crushed into a ball of twisted aluminum.

It was an effective, if ineloquent, answer.

“Fuck off, then, ghost dick!”

Steve wasn’t feeling particularly eloquent, either.

The lights went out again, but, this time, Steve just held up his middle finger to the empty room before storming off to his bed.

He had the creeping sensation of eyes watching him all night long.

He flipped them off again every time he woke up to turn over in his sleep.

It wasn’t all bad, living with a ghost.

He still broke shit, but it was never, like, shit Steve cared about? It was always random shit like beer bottles and cans and, notably, his Rick Astley and Wham cassettes.

The ghost, Billy, refused to answer Steve when he talked, but Steve just kept narrating everything he did anyway. Asked stupid questions sometimes, like hewas hanging out with a friend. Which was kinda pathetic maybe.

Steve didn’t feel quite so lonesome anymore, which was super nice, but.

He just felt.

Watched.

All the time.

Cooking up his Nonna’s spaghetti bolognese.

Catching some Star Trek reruns.

Laughing about those reruns on the phone with Dustin for hours.

And, now.

Laying on his bed in his briefs, hand creeping down his stomach toward his hard dick.

He hadn’t jerked off since he moved in. A whole week and a half.

It was something of a record, for Steve.

Now it just felt, impolite? Maybe?

Because he couldn’t tell where the ghost was at any given time. Didn’t want to just, spring his dick at him.

It was awkward enough just taking a shower, checking over his shoulder like he might find someone there.

This time, he bit the bullet, wrapping his fingers around his dick through the cotton, pitching his voice to be heard through the house.

“Alright, ghost dude. Billy. I’m gonna be getting some alone time in here. The kind that makes a mess. So. If you don’t wanna see that, you should make yourself scarce!”

There.

He was warned.

Steve didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

He shoved his briefs off, cursing as they got twisted around his ankles before kicking them to the floor.

It was a relief, more than anything, to curl his hand around his dick and squeeze.

He let out a heartfelt sigh, working up a lazy rhythm.

It was good, but he needed more.

Fucking. Deserved it, after his long abstinence.

He flopped over onto his stomach to pull out his lube from the bedside drawer, irritated with himself for leaving all of his porn mags packed up.

He’d get those out this afternoon, maybe, get a proper set up going.

His eyes slid across the wall as he slicked up his palm and tugged on his dick, twisting up underneath the head just the way he liked it, planting his heels on the mattress to fuck up into his fist with a grunt.

His gaze caught on the old photo in the broken frame, now hung on a fresh nail in Steve’s bedroom. For reasons.

It was just some guy’s face and like half his torso, but it was.

Inspiring.

Full lips, cut jaw, broad shoulders and muscles straining that black leather jacket. Steve could work with that.

He bit his lip, hand jerking faster until he got close to the edge and abruptly let go, collapsing to pant heavily on the mattress, breathless laughter in his throat.

It had been so long. He was going to drag this one out. Make a fucking meal of it.

Bringing one knee up, he spread his legs open, slicking the fingers of his other hand.

He resumed pulling his dick while his fingers slid down behind his balls to press inside, starting with two because he liked the stretch.

Liked to feel full.

He threw his head back on the pillow with a low moan, enjoying the novelty of having his own space, no roommates to hear.

Steve pumped his fingers, pulling them out to circle teasingly around his rim as he bit his lip against a truly embarrassing sound. Not even Steve needed to hear that particularly whiny note, thank you.

He loved this part. Was an absolute slut for anyone playing with his rim. Couldn’t get enough.

His dick started dripping onto his stomach and Steve picked up the pace, twisting his fingers back inside to feel for that spot and.

“Oh!”

Fuck, there it was. Felt like little bolts of lightning through his dick when he pressed just there, rubbing it in circles while he jerked his cock.

His heels slid around on the sheets as he got close, letting his throat open around needy, desperate noises.

His skin slapped wetly together as he lifted his hips and shot hot ropes of cum up his chest, shooting so high he caught himself on the chin.

He let go of his dick with a tiny whimper, swiping the cum from his chin to lick it off his fingers with a sigh.

“Holy shit.”

Steve nearly fell off of the bed at the sound of the ghost’s voice right beside him. It was low and shaky, sounded almost like Billy hadn’t meant to be heard.

Steve hauled the twisted sheets up to cover himself, wincing as they stuck to his cum-covered abs.

He pointed a lube-slick finger at the empty space the voice had originated from.

“Hey! I fucking warned you, dude. I’m a grown man! I have, like, needs. Told you to fuck off.”

The ghost didn’t answer for a long time. Long enough for Steve’s skin to cool, sheets crusty. Long enough for him to debate just saying fuck it and padding naked to the shower.

“If I didn’t want to see.”

Billy’s voice was quiet, coming from the same space beside the bed, like he hadn’t moved a ghost muscle.

Steve paused in wiping his hands off on the ruined sheets, tilting his head like a puppy, brow wrinkled with confusion.

“What?”

Billy paused. He seemed to do that a lot. Steve started to wonder if maybe it took a lot of ghost energy to talk.

“You said I should go if I didn’t want to see, dumbass.”

Had he? Oh shit, he had.

Steve wasn’t like, super great with precise wording. It was among the reasons he was not a lawyer. Also, like, everything else about him. But that was beside the point.

“Okay. Um. So you’re saying you wanted to? See me? Like that?”

Steve had. Mixed emotions, about that.

And very unmixed emotions about having mixed emotions.

He absolutely should not feel a little thrill at the idea that some random dead guy wanted to watch him jerk off. Steve’s constant need for attention and validation was really going off the rails, here.

The only things he really knew about Billy were that he was a dead guy and kind of a dick.

Not exactly Steve’s type.

And he still wasn’t answering. Steve was done waiting, ready for his shower.

“Alright, well. If you wanna perv on me I guess that’s your problem, man. I’m not gonna stop living my life just because there’s a ghost in it. If you knew half the shit I’ve been through, you’d understand why you haunting me is like, very low on my list of scary shit.”

He tossed the dirty sheet to the floor, leaving the bottle of lube in the middle of the mattress in favor of walking to his shower.

He tried to act natural, but he really couldn’t fight the urge to check back over his shoulder as he felt the weight of eyes on his back.

On his lube-slick ass, actually.

Only, when he checked, there was. There was something there, beside the bed.

Like a thickening of the air.

Not quite a fog, not even as solid as that.

Almost like a heat mirage, in the vague silhouette of a man.

Steve jumped a little bit, sticky hand on his sticky chest.

“Oh, fuck! I can see you!”

The heat mirage vanished as if it had never been, leaving Steve to stare at the wall with the distinct sensation that he was no longer being watched.

What. The fuck.

He didn’t see Billy again, or hear him, for another week.

Only two beer bottles were smashed against the wall when Steve came home from work the whole time, so. It was almost like not being haunted?

He hated how lonely that made him feel.

Steve still talked to Billy pretty much constantly, even if he never got an answer.

He jerked off everyday, ignoring the warm sensation of being watched. Okay, maybe playing into it a little bit, sometimes.

Giving his best angles, moaning just a teensy bit louder.

No one ever said Steve didn’t like attention.

He was narrating the recipe for smothered pork chops when Billy decided to speak again, nearly startling Steve into cutting himself.

“You can hear me.”

“Jesus FUCK! Never do that while I’m cutting things, please. Oh, my god. That’s gotta be like, ghost 101. Christ.”

Billy did his signature pause while Steve scraped the onions into the pan, cheeks a little warm over his reaction. It’s not like he didn’t know Billy was there, he had been talking to him. He just hadn’t expected an answer.

Billy’s voice was still right beside him, breathy with exasperation.

“Alright, alright, don’t flip your wig.”

Steve put the knife down, hand running though his hair self-consciously.

“It’s not a wig.”

Billy’s irritation was palpable, like a buzzing quality to the air all around Steve.

“Cool it, kitten. Just a turn of phrase. You, uh. You said you could see me?”

This time Steve didn’t flinch, just nodded thoughtfully as he stowed the pan in the oven and double checked his temperature.

“Yup. Well, kinda. Not right now, but, before. I could see, like, where you were standing? Not what you looked like, or anything.”

Steve had given, like, an embarrassing amount of thought to what Billy might look like.

Truly, just, mortifying amounts.

Billy’s voice wandered across the kitchen and back, like somebody who was pacing the small space beside Steve.

“No one can hear me. Or see me, at all. Ever. Why the fuck are you so special?”

Billy sounded pissed off, but there was a thin undertone of something like fear running through his words. And something else even sharper and more fragile.

Like hope.

It made Steve reach out his hand into empty space like a dumbass, letting it fall to his side with a thump.

He couldn’t touch a ghost, obviously. Stupid.

Steve shrugged, heading to the living room to plop on the couch, trusting Billy to like, float after him, or whatever.

“Beats me, man. Maybe it’s because I’ve like, dealt with crazy occult shit before? More like demons from another dimension, but that seems kinda related to ghosts, so. Guess I’ve got the right qualifications.”

He smoothed down his pink polo shirt, propping his feet up on the coffee table as he linked his hands over his stomach and waited for the timer to go off.

Billy had definitely floated after him, voice coming from the other end of the couch.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Billy sounded like that was a very dangerous thing to do, practically growling in Steve’s ear.

Steve hated how that made his dick hard.

He shifted himself in his khakis, turning his head toward the voice beside him on the couch.

“I’m really not. You’re a ghost, Billy. Surely you’ve gotta have an open mind about the possibility of other freaky shit.”

Steve waited through Billy’s pause, and waited some more, and finally sighed.

“Alright, I’m sorry I called you freaky shit. Not your fault you’re a ghost, right? Kind of a dick move for me to put you down for it. You didn’t, like, choose to be a ghost, did you?”

Billy didn’t pause this time, still right beside Steve, voice deep and emphatic like a gavel strike.

“No.”

Steve nodded, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Wow, that sucks.”

Cold air gusted over the side of Steve’s face as Billy sighed audibly.

“You have no idea, princess.”

The endearment knocked something loose in Steve. Something familiar, and dangerous.

All this time it had been kind of cool, and thrilling, to have a ghost around. A ghost who was interested in Steve, in his body, maybe, but.

He hadn’t really been thinking of Billy as a person.

With like, feelings.

Steve caught feelings easily, and hard, and he knew this slipping sensation like he knew the back of his hand.

Oh, fuck.

Steve was absolutely not going to fall for a dead guy. Nope. No way.

Putting his foot down, there.

Billy’s voice softened enough that Steve barely heard it, like a whisper on the wind.

“I like it.”

Steve rolled his head in Billy’s direction, eyes going a little unfocused as he tried to see him when there was nothing there.

“You like what?”

“I like it when you talk to me. I like the things you do. When you cook or dance or laugh at jokes. When you go to bed and when you—um. It’s been a long fucking time, since anyone knew I existed. And, I like it.”

More things knocked loose in his chest, opening up a space just the right size for one lonely ghost boy.

Shit.

Steve was definitely in trouble.

The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think it through, which was really par for the course, with him.

“Tell me about yourself. I know your name’s Billy. How old are you? What’s your favorite color? What do you do for fun?”

Oof. That last question might have been a mistake. Way to make things awkward with the ghost, Steve.

“I was 21 when I died. Still feel 21, don’t feel like an old fart. I like black. Really dig black leather. This couch is kinda alright. Used to drag race for fun, but now I like to watch pretty idiots who can’t dance for shit make fools of themselves cutting a rug in their living room.”

Steve couldn’t suppress his smile at that, fairly beaming in Billy’s direction. He got a flicker of heat mirage in response, solidifying his belief that Billy was beside him on the couch.

“Yeah, well. You’re just jealous of my sick moves. Sorry we don’t dance the Charleston anymore, grandpa.”

Billy’s laugh was surprisingly high, and cute, and made Steve itch to hear it everyday.

“Very funny, punk. I’d wipe the dance floor with your ass.”

Steve winked at the hint of mirage.

“It’s a date.”

The air went cold right before the mirage blipped out, along with Steve’s sense of being watched.

“Billy? Where’d you go?”

Nothing.

Steve ate his pork chops in oppressive silence before turning on the tv and staring at the screen, straining to feel Billy’s presence.

It wasn’t there.

Steve spent another week talking to Billy and getting no answer. He even danced twice as often, and twice as bad, just to see if he could make him laugh.

Nothing.

It was kind of infuriating.

He could feel his presence, like a blanket over his shoulders, but no response.

It wasn’t until Steve was going through his hair routine for work that Billy spoke again, right in his ear.

“Pomade.”

Steve yelped as he sprayed Farrah fawcett directly into his eyeballs, whipping his head around to look.

No mirage this time.

He went back to fixing his hair, working the comb to get the height he wanted before spraying again.

Billy sighed so close to him that it felt like he was blowing in his ear and Steve’s khakis tightened just a little.

“That shit isn’t even doing anything, you need pomade, pretty boy.”

Steve firmed his jaw, spraying once more even though it made the hair too heavy, just to prove a point.

“This is what modern guys use on their hair, Billy. It’s called hairspray. Works better than your Danny Zuko greaser nonsense.”

Billy’s sneer was audible in his tone.

“Then why does your hair look like shit?”

Ouch.

Steve took pride in his hair, okay? It was his best feature. He stopped talking to Billy as he finished getting ready for work, even though he could feel him sulking over his shoulder the entire time.

See how he liked getting the silent treatment he was always dishing out.

And, if Steve bought pomade on his next trip to the store, it was just a coincidence, okay?

Billy was not the boss of him.

The pomade sucked.

No height, no hold, just, a greasy mess.

Steve growled into the mirror with frustration before throwing his comb into the sink and bitching at his empty house.

“This greaser bullshit doesn’t even work, asshole! I look like a drowned rat!”

A soft gust of cool air brushed the back of his neck, sending goosebumps down his spine.

“No, Bambi. You’re not using it right. You gotta, just, Christ. Here.”

Steve held his breath, watching with wide eyes as the comb hovered out of the sink into thin air.

He knew Billy could affect solid objects, had cleaned up enough broken glass testifying to that fact, but. He had never actually witnessed it.

He barely avoided ducking as it approached his head, combing gently through the grease.

“You used way too much. Only need a dab, blockhead.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath as an image flickered over his shoulder in the mirror.

Not just a mirage. An image, fully formed.

Like a photograph almost too faded to make out, in the shape of a man.

Not just any man. The man from the picture.

The hot Marlon Brando wannabe that had fallen out of the broken frame. That Steve had hung back up, because he was so pretty.

And, fucking, jerked off to.

Very obviously.

More than once.

Steve gasped and flinched. Blue eyes flew to his in the mirror before the image blinked away, comb clattering to the floor.

“Oh, my god. I saw you! Like, for real!”

He whipped around, but nothing was there. He could feel Billy, still. But farther away, like he had walked out of the room.

“Hey, man! Billy! I saw you! You have blue eyes and you look, fucking.”

Gorgeous, he didn’t say. Swallowed that shit back.

He walked over to the picture on the wall, studying it closely.

Absorbing the blonde curls and dark eyebrows, strong jaw with sensuous lips. And, fuck, his fucking freckles, mouth twisted in a charming smirk.

This was Billy, as a real, living person.

He hovered his fingers over the photo, reluctant to smudge the broken glass.

“It’s you. This is really you, huh? Was, I guess.”

It hit him, all at once, that Billy had been really young when he died. Younger than Steve. That he didn’t get to live, really. And that sucked,

Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes and he went to wipe them, hissing with pain as he managed to spread pomade in his eyes.

He took a quick shower, needing to wash his hair twice to get out all of the grease. Billy didn’t stick around to watch.

Steve chose not to examine why that made him feel so disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Steve is just jaded with the paranormal at this point. Bratty dead guy in his house? Sure, why not. Roll with it.
> 
> What do we think is up with Billy, though? What’s his story?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hargrove, William.
> 
> 1935-1956.
> 
> He hadn’t just died.
> 
> Billy had been murdered. Violently. In his own home. By his own father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s Billy’s story. Who’s surprised? Nobody? Fair enough.
> 
> Buckle in for more ghost lovin’ 
> 
> This sad greaser baby needs it!

Hargrove, William.

1935-1956.

He hadn’t just died.

Billy had been murdered. Violently. In his own home. By his own father.

It was. A lot for Steve to process.

Neil Hargrove had died behind bars years ago during a life sentence. Steve was glad for it.

Steve leaned back in his chair, back and eyes sore from poring over the microfiche at the local library. There had been plenty of news coverage of Billy’s shocking death and subsequent haunting.

It was practically a local legend at this point.

The angry ghost who smashed the belongings of every family who tried to move into the Hargrove murder house.

No one seemed to know why Neil had done it. There was plenty of speculation but no proof.

He had never confessed a motive. Claimed to have been a good father to his dying day.

The Billy in the photos had been full of life. Cocky, even. With a hint of swagger in his smile that promised sweat-slick sheets and kisses with teeth.

The black leather jacket in nearly every photo was definitely going to feature heavily in Steve’s imagining of him.

There was also a grave, in a nearby cemetery.

Steve hadn’t visited, yet.

It seemed disrespectful. Like it was private.

Kind of like all of this information Billy hadn’t volunteered. That Steve had gone behind his back and dug around for, after a long, expensive pay phone call to Dustin.

“Yeah, hey man, listen. I need to go on a, um. What do you call it? Like a knowledge safari? And I need some paddles. Could you help me out?”

Dustin had sighed so hard the phone had crackled in Steve’s ear.

“Steve. Buddy. You don’t need paddles on a safari. There is no water. Wait, what exactly do you think a safari is, Steve?”

Like they would be having this conversation if Steve knew what a fucking safari was.

“Not the point, man. I want to find out some local news from like, thirty years ago. Where do I go?”

Dustin had pitched his voice like he was presenting a prize on some game show.

“To the most magical place on Earth, my friend.”

Which, what? Didn’t make any sense.

“Disneyland?”

The second sigh had been even harder than the first, leaving Steve wincing at the crackling pay phone speaker.

“No, Steve. Jesus. The library.”

Dustin had been kind enough to talk Steve through the process of looking up microfiche for old newspapers and police reports.

“Well, the micro indicates that it’s small, so, yes, you’re correct there, Steve, but. For the love of god. No. There are no fish. Fiche. It’s Fiche.”

“Yeah, you’re still just saying fish.”

“Oh, my god. Shut up and let me help you.”

“Okay, Geez. So, what do I do with the little fish?”

“STEVE!”

It had been. Something of a process, but he’d figured it out.

Felt like a real super sleuth, too.

Kind of felt like a jerk, now.

It wasn’t like he had uncovered secrets or anything, he had just read the old news articles, but.

He got the feeling that Billy wouldn’t want him to know.

Billy was waiting when Steve walked in the door. He didn’t say anything, and there was no mirage, but Steve could sense him hovering near the front door. Waiting for Steve to come home.

Steve offered a small smile to the empty room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Hey, man. I picked up dinner and I thought we could watch a movie or something. Went to Blockbuster and rented a couple of tapes, so, uh.”

He fumbled his greasy bag of fast food, trying to deal with the crinkly plastic bag from the video store. Fries spilled across the coffee table while he pulled out the tapes.

“Shit. Okay, so. I got the Terminator, which is like, a cool action thing. Lots of fight scenes. And Animal House, so funny, man, one of the best. And, uh. Ghostbusters? Which is. Dumb. Fuck, I shouldn’t have grabbed that one. I thought it would be funny but now it just feels kinda mean and I didn’t think—”

Billy’s voice was so warm it was almost fond, molded into the shape of an invisible smile.

“Chill out, princess. Let’s just start with the first one.”

Steve smiled back so hard his cheeks hurt, beyond pleased that Billy was talking to him again.

Billy gave a quiet little huff of laughter.

“Over here, asshole. You’re smiling at the wall. I’m about two feet to the left. You, uh. You can’t see me?”

Steve adjusted until he was looking where Billy had directed him, squinting in concentration.

“No, not right now. It’s like I can only see you sometimes. I don’t know how it works. You’re the ghost, you tell me.”

Billy waited until Steve had sat down on the couch to tear into his fries before giving his answer.

“I don’t fucking know, alright? No one has ever seen me before. It seems like you can hear me all the time though, right?”

Steve shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of burger.

“I think so? You don’t talk a lot, but I answer when you do.”

Billy did his long pause again, giving Steve time to polish off his burger and wipe his hands on his shirt so he could get the tape in the VCR.

He cursed under his breath as he put it in backwards and had to eject to get it right.

Billy’s voice came from in front of the couch, quiet and hesitant.

“Guess I got out of the habit, with nobody to hear.”

Steve paused, hand still on the VCR, his back to Billy’s voice.

Why the fuck did that make him want to cry?

“Well. I’m glad you’re getting back into the habit now. I love having the company, man. Can’t stand an empty house.”

He flopped back on the couch, leaving room for Billy in case he wanted to sit.

Did ghosts sit?

“Doesn’t it give you the heebie-jeebies? Having me around?”

Billy’s voice was tough, with a harsh edge to it, but Steve could sense the wobbling foundation of insecurity it had been built on.

Steve shook his head, absently munching on a fry as the movie started.

“Naw. You’re like, one of the least scary bits of my young adult life. High school was, fucking, crazy for me, man. Told you about that already. No, I, uh. I really like having you around, Billy. When you’re not breaking all my shit.”

Billy’s image flickered into being like a candle flame, seated at the other end of the couch, still faded but with more detail than Steve had ever seen before.

Curly blonde hair swept up in a messy pompadour, pretty blue eyes and, fuck. That black leather jacket, open over a plain white tee shirt and pale blue jeans.

He looked like a James Dean wet dream.

Fuck.

“Oh! I—Billy, I can see you, now!”

Billy’s eyes went wide and startled and he looked down at his own torso like he was as surprised as Steve, running his hands over his broad chest and taut stomach.

Christ.

“Huh. Don’t feel any different. Looks just the same, to me.”

He was sitting on the couch, in the space Steve had made for him. It sent a rush of warmth through Steve’s entire body.

The movie burst into action on screen and Steve got to watch Billy’s eyes widen, mouth gaping open with shocked delight as he gestured at the screen.

“This shit is badass, man!”

Steve hummed his agreement, eating his fries and watching Billy watch the movie.

He was so animated. Just, full of life.

Always in motion, whooping and pumping his fist when something particularly impressive happened on-screen.

Every now and then, clear blue eyes would cut over to Steve, always shocked to find him looking back, always waiting a couple of heartbeats before wrenching away to return to the movie.

Steve inched closer on the couch, waiting for a chill in the air or instinctive otherworldly fear. Neither ever came.

Billy had gotten progressively more solid as the film went on, now merely translucent rather than transparent.

Steve could see his freckles.

And the blush that dusted the tips of his sweetly rounded, prominent ears when Billy turned to say something and discovered Steve right next to him.

They both froze, movie forgotten as they locked eyes.

Billy’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, pink and slick and altogether far too lively for a dead guy.

Steve wanted to taste it. Taste Billy.

He reached out his hand slowly, carefully, until he was hovering over the sleeve of Billy’s jacket.

Steve couldn’t feel radiant heat the way he could with a living man, but it didn’t feel cold, either.

Billy’s breath hitched as Steve let his hand fall the rest of the way, blue eyes going wide and panicked when Steve actually connected.

He could feel the butter-soft leather of Billy’s jacket, the solid roll of his muscle, and then he was gone.

Vanished.

Steve’s hand fell through empty air to land on the couch cushion.

“Billy?”

Steve couldn’t sense him in the room. He shoved off the couch, stumbling first into the kitchen and then both bedrooms.

“I’m sorry, if I scared you. I didn’t mean to. Didn’t even know I could touch you, really.”

No answer. No presence.

Steve was alone.

He slumped back on the couch, zoning out through the rest of the movie until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

When he woke in the morning with a crick in his neck, he found himself covered from chest to toe by the blanket he kept on the foot of the bed.

He rubbed the soft material between his fingers before smiling just a little at the empty room.

“Thanks, man.”

Steve rewound the tape and set the Terminator to play while he went to work, just in case Billy wanted to see how it ends.

It only took two more days for Billy to reappear this time.

Steve could just, see him now.

No more mirage.

He still wasn’t entirely opaque but now Steve could see the way he draped himself across the furniture, eyes following Steve as he went about his daily tasks, face scrunching or smirking whenever Steve did something stupid or amusing.

The way he combed his fingers through his hair, tugging at the curl over his forehead every now and then.

The way he stuck out his tongue, like, all the time, biting his nails and nibbling his thumb and generally giving Steve a complex over his very obvious oral fixation.

He could tell that Billy wasn’t used to being seen. There was a lack of self-consciousness to his movements. Steve doubted he was even aware of some of them.

Billy held himself sometimes, wrapped his arms tightly around himself while he watched Steve with big blue eyes liquid with pain. It made Steve ache to replace Billy’s arms with his own, to gather him close like he would a living boy.

But that wasn’t possible.

Unless Steve’s ability to touch him progressed the way his ability to see him had, but.

It was too much to hope.

So, of course, it was all Steve could think about.

Billy, still apparently unaware that Steve could see him, eagerly followed Steve into the bathroom and watched him undress for the shower, that tongue poking out between parted lips as his hand went to the front of his jeans, cupping himself.

Steve stumbled a little over the pants around his knees when he noticed that Billy was hard, cock straining beneath the denim.

Who knew ghosts could get hard-ons?

Steve’s own dick was responding now, twitching as it filled and lifted away from his body. Billy’s eyes followed it hungrily, fingers tightening around the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

Steve pulled back the shower curtain, stepping in before peeking back over his shoulder, right into Billy’s face.

“You coming in, big guy?”

Billy actually jumped, face stark with panic when he met Steve’s eyes, hand jerking away from his jeans and behind his back like that might help disguise his actions.

Steve shrugged, pulling the curtain closed.

“Suit yourself.”

He could feel that Billy had left the bathroom, but not the house. Waiting in the bedroom, maybe.

Steve trotted out with a towel slung around his waist, using another to rub the excess water from his hair.

Billy was sitting on Steve’s bed, chewing on his nails as he stared at the wall. He got to his feet when Steve walked in, eyes searching his face.

“You can see me. For real, now. Can’t you?”

Steve threw his hair towel over his shoulder, resting his hands on his hips as he cocked his head in Billy’s direction.

“Yup. And I gotta say, you’re looking good, for an old man.”

Billy’s lips twisted in the cocky smirk from his photographs, some of the apprehension sliding from his eyes to be replaced with heat.

“Yeah? Like what you see, princess?”

Steve lifted his eyebrows in challenge, letting both towels fall to the floor. Billy licked his lips as Steve approached the bed, climbing onto the mattress on his knees.

“I do. Maybe not as much as you seem to like what you see, though. I’ve been watching you watch me, and I think you can’t look away from me, Billy.”

Billy didn’t look away, walking forward until his thighs bumped the mattress like he was in a trance, eyes trailing over Steve’s wet, naked body before sticking to his cock.

“What can I say? You’re a real knock-out, the kinda dish that turns a guy’s head. You mind?”

Steve shook his head, suppressing a pleased shiver at Billy’s husky tone, at the way Billy’s body leaned forward like he was trying to get closer subconsciously.

“Not a bit.”

Steve watched Billy stare at his cock for a long moment before he jerked his eyes up to Steve’s face, brow furrowed.

“Aren’t you gonna, you know?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to smirk, heart thumping at the sweet wash of pink in Billy’s ears. He let one hand trail down his stomach, carding through his dark curls and stopping just short of his cock.

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?”

Billy swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing, before making a universal obscene gesture that had withstood the test of time.

“Choke the chicken?”

Steve laughed with surprised delight, Billy following suit with a wide grin, tongue clamped between his teeth.

“Jesus, that’s gross. And, I was gonna, but. I can’t decide if it’s too weird when you’re right there watching me.”

Billy gave him the most incredulous look Steve had seen on his face, like he couldn’t believe Steve would even say such a thing.

“Why? You do it all the time.”

And, okay.

Not, like, all the time.

Just, probably once a day. Maybe twice on weekends.

Steve was in his prime, okay?

His face warmed with an embarrassed flush that Billy tracked with a soft smile, fingers twitching at his side like he wanted to reach out and touch.

But that was impossible.

Right?

Steve sat back on his heels, resisting the urge to cover himself under Billy’s unrelenting gaze.

“Yeah, But it was different when I couldn’t see you. Now it just feels, I dunno. More.”

Billy scowled down at Steve, giving the impression that he was moments away from stomping his foot like a brat.

“Feels the same to me.”

Steve chewed on his lip before taking the plunge.

“Okay, But what if you, like, got in the bed with me? I might feel less like a bug under a microscope, then.”

Billy sprung into action to climb on the bed, bouncing Steve on the mattress. Who knew ghosts had heft?

Oh, fuck, now Steve was focusing on Billy’s heft. How it might feel to be pinned by it. Fucked into the mattress.

Covered by Billy’s rolling muscles, staring into soft blue eyes and nipping at full pink lips.

Christ, Steve needed to get laid.

Steve turned to get the lube from the drawer, peeking back over his shoulder to find Billy staring at his ass like it was a magical wish-granting well.

He gave it a little wiggle just to watch Billy’s tongue poke out, nostrils flared.

Watch him grip himself through his jeans, before taking his hand away with a nervous glance at Steve’s face.

Steve settled onto his back, propped up by a mountain of pillows as he turned to look at Billy.

Billy reclined on his side, head propped up on one hand, translucent motorcycle boots on top of Steve’s duvet like he had been raised in a barn.

A single, perfect curl fell artfully across his forehead and Steve’s heart ran right into his sternum with a heavy, foreboding thump.

Really not a good idea, heart.

Maybe don’t fling yourself at the dead guy, Steve told his runaway heart as he slicked up his palm in preparation of doing just that. No one ever accused Steve of being good at taking advice.

Long, dark lashes shaded Billy’s eyes as he took in Steve’s naked display, tongue wetting lips so pink Steve might have suspected lipgloss.

He was so much more than his photograph, here, in Steve’s bed, mattress dipping with his weight even as Steve could still make out the wall behind him.

Billy’s hand crept forward on the mattress between them, like he was barely resisting the urge to touch.

“Don’t be a tease, pretty boy. Let’s hit the gas.”

His words were rough, but his voice was soft. Quiet. Almost reverent.

Like a secret, just between them.

Steve wrapped a hand around his cock and Billy made a sound like he had wrapped his fingers around Billy instead.

God, if only.

Steve started to move, jerking his cock a lot more slowly than usual, really putting on a show for his audience, fluttering his fingers up the shaft and swirling his palm over the tip until his breath hitched in his chest and Billy breathed out a quiet curse.

Billy’s hand rubbed up the length of his denim-clad thigh until it rested over his cock, still trapped in his jeans. He gave it a squeeze, eyes drifting closed before snapping back open to search Steve’s face, hand falling to the mattress.

Steve wriggled a little closer on the bed until he could feel the cool hint of Billy’s heavy breath against his face. If they were both alive, he would have felt Billy’s heat.

He tried not to miss it too much.

Steve looked pointedly at Billy’s trapped cock, tugging his own for emphasis.

“It’s okay, Billy. You can join in, if you want to. Does it feel good? Even as a ghost?”

Billy gave a sigh of relief as he let his hand go back to his cock, rubbing through his jeans with a hard swallow, eyes darting between Steve’s hand and face.

“Yeah, just, like I’m feeling it from far away. Like I’m jerking myself off from the other room or something. It’s kinda frustrating.”

But, also, very hot? What was that so hot?

Steve blurted out the first thought in his head with no filter.

He lost all filters when his cock was hard and wet, okay?

“Can you come?”

Billy hissed with relief as he popped open the button placket of his jeans, a sight that made Steve resent the existence of zippers. Billy’s eyes found his as he reached in and pulled out his thick, uncut cock.

“Yeah. I can. I do. More since you moved in than probably all the years before that combined. I just, uh, don’t make a mess anymore. Kinda miss that part. It’s one of the reasons I like it so much when you do.”

Steve’s last brain cell jumped ship, voice going husky as he nuzzled his cheek against the pillow, palm teasing the head of his dick.

“You like watching me come all over myself?”

Billy whined between his teeth as his hips jerked forward, cock sliding through his fist while he gritted out his answer.

“Yes. Goddamn, love it. And when you—fuck. When you taste it. Drives me crazy, baby.”

Steve moaned as whorishly as he could manage, pleased to be able to watch Billy’s pupils dilate.

“I wanna watch you come. What do—Billy, what do you want? What do you want to see? Tell me, please.”

Billy growled as he shoved his jeans down his thighs and his shirt up over his chest, exposing cut abs and a hint of pink nipple. Steve had to squeeze the base of his cock hard to keep from coming when Billy rumbled out his request, eyes burning like embers in Steve’s bed.

“Your hole. Play with it. Show me.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, yes. Steve could definitely do that.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, reluctant to break away to get the lube.

“That’s what you like to see?”

Billy scooted closer, translucent nose nearly touching Steve’s hair on the pillow as he worked his cock in a tight fist.

“Love when you do that. So fucking pretty like that, baby. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Steve caught his eyes and sucked his first two fingers into his mouth, pumping them a little just to watch the way Billy shuddered and gasped.

He got them nice and wet, nearly dripping as he lowered them down between his legs to circle his rim.

Spreading his legs wide, he arched his back to give Billy a better view. Billy scrambled down the bed, knees tangled in his jeans as he placed himself on his belly between Steve’s legs.

“Yeah, fuck. Just like that, pretty boy.”

Steve pressed inside just a little, squirming and whining as he felt Billy’s hand brush against his thigh. Soft, and real, and just a little bit odd feeling.

“Billy. Oh fuck, yes. I can—I can feel you.”

Billy couldn’t tear his eyes away from Steve’s wet rim, voice rasping low.

“What are you thinking about now, kitten? Tell me.”

Steve stroked his cock from root to tip with a desperate little sound caught in his throat, pressing his thigh into Billy’s hand.

“Thinking about your mouth. I want it on me.”

Blue eyes flashed up at him, translucent as sea glass beneath dark lashes.

“Yeah? That sounds real nice, sweetheart. Where do you want me to put it?”

Steve lifted his hips, fingers sliding in to the hilt inches from Billy’s face.

“You know where.”

Billy surged up to lap at Steve’s cock with long, fat licks. Steve tensed, half expecting his tongue to feel like an ice cube.

It didn’t.

It felt like a normal tongue, but. Muffled, a little bit. Like, how had Billy put it? Like he was doing it from the other room.

More of a tease than anything.

It was still absolutely devastating for Steve’s composure.

He panted and writhed under Billy’s tongue, hand going for his hair and passing through it before trying again and hitting a more solid manifestation of blond curls, falling messily from their combed-high perch, wrapping around Steve’s fingers like wisps of silk.

Steve spread his legs wide, hitching one of them up to his chest as Billy’s hands cupped his ass, thumbs edging close to his hole, pulling him open as Billy looked down with something like awe on his face.

Steve pulled his hand out while his other fingers clenched in Billy’s hair, tugging it a little with an insistent moan.

“There, Billy. Please. Put your mouth on me. Right there.”

Billy looked up at him like Steve was the one who was an otherworldly vision, eyes dark with desire.

“You want me to eat your poundcake, princess?”

Steve didn’t really have a response to that, other than to whine beseechingly as he lifted his legs to open himself further.

Billy’s thumbs tugged him open, pink tongue peeking out to wet his lips, muttering low to himself with a growl in his chest.

“Jesus. Ain’t that a pretty sight?”

Steve choked on air when Billy dipped his head and wriggled his tongue in between his thumbs, soft and sweet and basically ruining Steve’s life.

“Billy! Oh, my god. That’s—oh, fuck. Please don’t stop.”

Billy’s shockingly solid fingers dug into Steve’s flesh as he mashed his face between his legs, nosing his balls out of the way to thrust his tongue inside.

Steve was never going to get over the sight of that black leather jacket between his legs. This was it. It was over for him.

Billy’s hips worked steadily, rutting into the sheets, muscular ass rolling in short, sharp thrusts while he ate Steve out like it was his goddamned job.

Steve forgot every hint of worry that maybe people hadn’t done this when Billy had been alive. Clearly, they did.

Fucking, expertly.

Billy’s tongue shoved inside and Steve grasped his cock, thumbing under the head with a sharp inhale.

It felt so good, and so strange. Like indirect contact, almost. Like Billy was right there, but also, wasn’t?

It was too much to think about when Steve’s brain had already melted and slid off the bed.

Billy just felt. Good.

So, Steve told him that. In a wrecked, needy voice that he would have been embarrassed to hear if his brain hadn’t melted.

“Good. So good, Billy. Billy you feel so good, fuck!”

Billy moaned into his ass, tongue thrusting harder as his hips did the same, lips sucking at Steve’s rim with a wet, obscene sound that made Steve’s cock leak in his fist.

“Fuck, I’m close. Billy, please, I’m gonna—”

Billy pulled back just enough to talk, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s ass with a groan.

“Yeah? Do it, pretty boy. Come on my fucking tongue.”

And, it was a good thing Billy thrust his tongue right back inside Steve as soon as he finished talking, because otherwise he would have been disappointed.

Because Steve was already coming.

Shooting all over his stomach, dripping over his fingers as he stripped his cock at breakneck speed, crying out Billy’s name while he clenched down around his tongue.

He petted at the top of Billy’s head with his clean hand as Billy tongue-fucked him through it, grunting into his ass while he frantically humped the bed.

Steve collapsed back into his pillow only to jack-knife up again, scrabbling at Billy’s leather-clad shoulders when he shoved up Steve’s body to suck his spent cock down his throat.

“Christ! Oh, shit, Billy. Fuck, I can’t! You—”

Billy let him go with a noisy slurp, getting to his knees between Steve’s legs, brutally fisting his own cock while he licked up every drop of Steve’s cum, sucking it from his damp skin and dark curls with a deep, hungry moan.

Steve bent himself in half, curling his body over Billy to make a grab for his cock, squeezing his fingers in between Billy’s to help him stroke it, burying his face in Billy’s neck to kiss him there.

Billy came with a shuddering gasp, solid body twitching in Steve’s arms as he came dry, cock pulsing in their hands.

Steve pulled him down on top of him until Billy’s head rested on his chest, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him just to hold Billy close the way he had been aching to.

The way he hadn’t thought was possible.

Billy’s breath hitched in his chest, arms coming up around Steve in an iron grip as he hid his face in Steve’s chest hair.

They held each other just like that even as sleep crept up on Steve, taking him unawares.

Billy was gone by the time he woke, alone in rumpled sheets.

The blanket had been pulled over him again, shielding him from the chill autumn air.

Steve held the plaid fabric against his chest, the way he had held Billy for brief, shining moments, peering around the empty room.

“Thank you, Billy. You take such good care of me.”

No response.

But.

Steve could feel that he was in the house, somewhere beyond the bedroom.

Hiding, maybe.

Steve just needed to give him some time.

Billy only took a day before reappearing, bickering with him about the paint colors Steve was considering for the living room, sitting with Steve on the couch, laughing at Steve’s favorite stupid movies.

Climbing into Steve’s bed at night to neck like they were running out of time while they jerked each other’s cocks like it was a fucking contest.

It was great.

Amazing, even.

Like having a boyfriend who just happened to be, well, dead.

It worked for them.

Until Steve ruined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Steve!
> 
> What did he do!?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian from work was nice.
> 
> Attractive in a bland, yuppie way. Nice to look at, pleasant to be around. Just, nice.
> 
> Which was why Steve had such a hard time turning him down.
> 
> So hard, in fact, that, eventually, he kinda didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve! No! Don’t do it!
> 
> Poor Billy ghost gruff.
> 
> Content Warning-Billy has some pretty rough internalized homophobia that comes out in this chapter.

Brian from work was nice.

Attractive in a bland, yuppie way. Nice to look at, pleasant to be around. Just, nice.

Which was why Steve had such a hard time turning him down.

So hard, in fact, that, eventually, he kinda didn’t.

Putting him off hadn’t worked. Letting him down gently hadn’t either, until finally Steve had agreed to dinner just to get Brian to leave him alone.

It was not his finest moment.

Chickening out of explaining the situation to Billy in the hopes that he just wouldn’t notice was also not his finest moment.

Steve had some very not-fine moments that week.

Brian considered himself a gentleman, insisted on picking Steve up for their date at the nicer Italian place in town.

Billy watched Steve get ready with narrowed eyes, lips a hard, firm line.

“What are you doing?”

Steve paused in fixing his hair, locking eyes with Billy in the mirror.

“I’m getting ready.”

Billy’s voice dipped low and dangerous, raising the hair on the back of Steve’s neck.

“For what?”

Steve finished his hair, turning around to lean against the sink and fuss with his shirt, tucking the pastel polo more tightly into his khakis.

“I have a, uh, a date. But it’s really not—”

He half expected Billy to vanish, but he didn’t. Just flickered a little bit, eyes burning as he interrupted with a biting tone.

“What’s her name?”

Steve was saved from answering by the well-timed and very polite knock on the door.

He pulled it open to reveal Brian standing there with a bouquet of roses and an endearingly nervous smile.

“Hi! Sorry, I’m a little early.”

Steve smiled back, even though he could feel the falseness of it like a weight around his neck.

“That’s okay! I’ll just run put these in water, won’t take a sec.”

He left Brian on the porch while he threw the flowers into his only vase and ran some tap water in it.

Billy watched him the entire time, brows lowered and hands clenched into fists at his side.

Steve gave him one last, apologetic glance before shutting the door and following Brian to his car.

He could just make out the sound of glass shattering before getting in.

Well, so much for his mother’s vase.

Steve had expected some damage when he returned, but, this.

There was shattered glass and water all over the kitchen floor, mangled roses scattered across the living room. They looked like they had been torn apart and then stomped into the floor.

His stereo speakers had been kicked in, tapes pulled from the cassette cases.

He found Billy in the bedroom, chest heaving, surrounded by shredded paper.

The bedside drawer was open and overturned, cracked bottle of lube lying in a sticky puddle on top of more shredded magazines.

Billy had gone after Steve’s porn, for some reason.

Steve stepped over the remains of his collection until he stood right in front of Billy, who jutted his chin defiantly with a sneer.

“Have a good time, princess?”

Steve put his hands on his hips, surveying the damage while he took a deep, calming breath.

“Not really. You seem to have kept yourself busy.”

Billy didn’t answer, just glared as he pulled something out of his pocket that made Steve’s heart stop.

It was the picture, from the wall.

His only picture of Billy when he was alive.

Billy held it between steady fingers, watching Steve’s face as he started to tear it down the middle.

Steve choked on air as he lurched forward to yank it from his grasp, smoothing his thumb over the little tear at the top before casting betrayed eyes Billy’s way.

“What the fuck is your problem, man? Are you really that jealous? Is that it?”

Billy’s laugh was loud, and haunting, drilling down into Steve’s marrow to freeze his bones as his voice cut like a knife.

“Jealous of what? That square? Why, pretty boy? Should I be? You been out playing backseat bingo? You let him touch you? Get his filthy paws under your blouse? Let him fuck you, baby?”

Steve shook his head, clasping the photograph to his chest.

“No. He kissed me on the cheek when he dropped me off and I called it quits. It was just a dinner date. The last one, with him.”

Billy nodded thoughtfully before reaching out and slamming his fist so hard into the wall that it cracked the plaster.

His ghost knuckles didn’t bleed.

Steve jumped, taking a step back as Billy rolled his fists like he might take another swing.

Steve put the photograph carefully on top of the dresser, voice strained with anger.

“I’ll ask you again, Billy. What the actual fuck is your problem right now?”

Billy pointed a solid, shaking finger at him, and, for the first time, Steve noticed that his eyes were wet and red-rimmed. Liquid blue amplified by tears.

“You wanna know what my problem is? My problem is that you’re a fucking queer!”

Steve firmed his jaw, swallowing back the hurt, stomping down on the memory of his dad saying the exact same thing to him when he had left home.

He planted his feet and told Billy the same thing he had told his dad, pulling courage up from his guts with shaking hands.

“Yeah, I am. I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it, asshole.”

Billy flinched back like Steve had slapped him, blinking shocked blue eyes like that was the last thing he expected Steve to say. His voice cracked like a log on the fire, burning with intensity as he advanced into Steve’s space, face dour.

“You can’t. Steve, you can’t say that shit. Can’t do that shit, out in the open like that, with some guy. Somebody could have seen you, idiot!”

Steve held his ground, clinging to the desperation in Billy’s eyes behind the anger. Clinging to all the things that might mean.

“So, what? Who cares if they did?”

Billy hauled him up by his jacket, slamming him into the wall. Steve curled a hand gently around his solid wrist, wonderment bubbling through his veins even as Billy continued to shout in his face.

“So, that’s the kinda thing that gets pretty boys like you killed!”

Steve lifted his other hand to cup Billy’s cheek, smearing his thumb through the tear tracks. He didn’t know Billy could cry.

His face felt solid, skin soft beneath Steve’s fingertips, clean-shaven with just the barest hint of stubble beneath the surface.

Steve pitched his voice low and private, just between them, here, in their room.

“Is that what happened to you?”

The ground rushed up to meet him when Billy vanished, wooden floorboards brutal against his knees, hands slipping on the glossy fragments of illicit magazines.

Billy didn’t return for a week.

And then two.

And then three.

And then Steve stopped talking, and dancing, and leaving the television on the action channel when he went to work.

Steve just, stopped.

Stopped hoping, and wishing, stopped finding excuses to turn Brian down again for the third time.

He hung Billy’s picture in a brand new frame, next to his bed, tracing the lines of his face with careful fingers.

“I’m sorry, Billy. For all of it. I wish. I wish you knew how I felt, about you. How I feel.”

Billy’s voice sounded right behind him, rough with irritation and jagged with hurt.

“So fucking tell me, already.”

Steve jumped a foot in the air, nearly knocking the picture off the wall as he spun to face him.

“Jesus! Holy shit, don’t DO that!”

Billy wasn’t as solid as he had been before, back to flickering again. It made Steve’s chest ache like there was a knife lodged inside and twisting.

Billy’s chin jutted out, hips and shoulders cocked with bad-boy swagger as he made a broad gesture with spread hands.

“Thought you missed me, tears on your pillow and all that.”

Everything in his stance screamed that he didn’t care, but Steve wasn’t listening to that. He was listening to the thread of need in his voice, the shine of want in his eyes.

Steve stepped closer, keeping his voice soft and face open.

“I did. I did miss you, Billy. Where did you go?”

Billy gave a jerk of his shoulders that pretended at a shrug, eyes hungry on Steve’s face.

“Nowhere.”

Steve deserved that. And worse. He should have explained himself, before the date. Should have talked it through with Billy instead of just springing it on him like that. It had been a dick move.

Steve searched his face for clues, running through memories of weeks spent crying and begging Billy to come back, apologies screamed to an empty house.

“You weren’t here, I would have felt it. You were gone.”

Billy’s eyes slid away as he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. Steve hated that he was nearly transparent, now.

“Yeah, I cant really go anywhere. I just kinda, peel out for a few days. Cool it in this dark, empty space that’s, I dunno, under the house, kinda.”

Steve wanted to punch something. Himself, maybe.

“A few days? Billy. You’ve been gone for a month.”

Billy’s brow furrowed, contrition flitting across his face for a brief second.

“Oh, shit. Can’t really tell time when I’m in there.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked Steve up and down, lips flattening into a hard line.

“You’re all dolled up. Got another hot date?”

Steve’s blood ran cold with panic, clammy sweat prickling up under the collar of his striped polo.

“No. Well, yes, but. I’ll call him up and cancel it. Right now.”

Steve hurried to the phone and lifted the receiver to his ear, flinching when Billy jerked it away again.

“Don’t do that.”

Steve made a grab for it, something inside of him sinking down to his toes when it passed easily through Billy’s hand without him letting go.

“Why not? You got so upset the last time, and I know it wasn’t fair to you. We never really discussed this thing between us and—”

When Billy smiled it was all teeth, nothing but sharp edges on display.

“There’s nothing between us. Never has been, never will be.”

But Steve was done playing games. Weeks alone in an empty house with nothing but his guilt for company had brought clarity.

He gave Billy an arched eyebrow, tucking the phone on his shoulder while he searched the notepad next to it for Brian’s number.

“Billy. I had your ghost tongue in my ass like, a month ago. That was definitely something.”

Billy’s ears glowed red, blush washing all the way across his cheeks beneath the freckles, just solid enough for Steve to see them as his smile softened, lifting at the corners to crinkle his eyes.

“Fuck, you got a filthy mouth on you, princess. But, all that don’t mean shit. I’m not—I can’t give you anything, not really. Can’t be what you need, what you deserve. I’m dead, Steve.”

Steve held the receiver to his ear while it rang, never looking away from Billy’s translucent face.

“So? Who cares? You’re amazing, Billy. I’ve dealt with worse problems. And, believe me, dead is still better than some guys I’ve dated.”

Billy shook his head with a tiny little laugh, the sadness in his eyes deep enough to pull Steve beneath the surface.

“So. Go on your date. Let him take you out, treat you nice.” He scowled down at the ground and then looked back up at Steve, eyebrows severe and low. “That square better keep his fucking hands to himself, but. You gotta live your life, baby. Pretty boy like you oughta have a date every night. There’s nothing here for you. Not with me.”

Brian’s answering machine picked up, and Steve nearly sighed with relief as he left a brief message canceling their date and declining the possibility of future dates. It might have been a little rude, but he frankly didn’t care.

Billy listened intently while Steve left the message, chewing on his thumb and glancing up at Steve through his lashes.

Steve wanted to touch him so fucking bad his fingers ached.

The receiver clicked down onto the base and Billy sighed, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets to swing it open with a broad gesture.

“Listen. Maybe this isn’t the guy for you, but I meant what I said, about keeping a lid on it. You gotta be more careful. Keep it behind closed doors. You never know who could be watching, and it’s a dangerous world for guys like. Guys like us.”

He was wavering between transparent and translucent, now, flickering in and out of solidity.

Steve wanted to reach out, but the fear of going right through him kept him in place.

“Billy, is that—is that what happened to you?”

Billy jerked his head to the side, eyes finding the dent Steve had noticed in the wall, a muscle working in his jaw as he clenched his teeth against some strong emotion.

His voice sounded like Steve had dragged it out of him over gravel, leaving a bloody trail behind with every word.

“Yeah. My, uh. My dad. He caught me on my knees under the boardwalk with some guy, and. Waited until I got home to try to—to beat it out of me, and. Well. Here I am.”

There was a source of pain so deep in him that Steve couldn’t draw it out like the poison that it was. He had to offer the only antidote that he had.

His love for Billy, pouring out in his voice, his eyes, the tips of his fingers stretched out in the air between them.

“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. You didn’t deserve that.”

Billy shrugged, arms wrapping tight around himself as his eyes avoided Steve’s face, still staring at that ugly fucking wall. Steve was going to brick over it tomorrow, swear to god.

He couldn’t stand it, walking up to him to reach out slowly, slowly, heaving a sigh of relief when he connected with black leather. He grasped Billy’s arms and squeezed in reassurance, shoving his love into Billy at every point of contact as he dipped his head to catch his eye.

“I’m serious, Billy. You deserve so much better than you got. Life dealt you a shitty hand. And then death did, too. Leaving you stuck here, like this. None of it should have happened. You deserve good things.”

Billy sucked in a harsh breath as he slowly lifted one hand to rest on Steve’s chest, eyes growing wet, voice shaky.

“That last part hasn’t been all bad. Lately I’ve had this real dish come around and keep me on my toes. Got a pair of gams on him like you wouldn’t believe.”

Steve laughed in surprise, sniffing against the threat of tears even as he lifted a hand to Billy’s cheek to wipe his gently away.

“Billy, you said, you said ’guys like us’ and I—”

Pressing his cheek into Steve’s palm, Billy looked just as relieved to be palpable as Steve felt. He whispered into the space between them, rasping sweet and low as he met Steve’s eyes, translucent eyes as clear as the sky.

“Yeah. What you said about. About being queer, I. Yeah. Me too. I’ve never—never said that, out loud, before. But, I am.”

Steve’s heart staged an all-out coup.

Battering down his ribs to overtake his brain, reroute the signals to his mouth to send direct messages.

Steve clutched Billy closer, nearly shaking with pride.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re so brave, Billy. God, I love you so much.”

Slipping out from under Steve’s hands, Billy stepped back, no longer flickering as he went firmly translucent all over. He shook his head with a cocky smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, more flat than the photograph of him on Steve’s wall.

“Whoa. Don’t gotta spin a yarn like that, pretty boy. Not for a stiff like me.”

It only took two steps to catch up to him, wrap his arms around and pull him close again, cupping his jaw to stare into his eyes as Steve’s heart sent out nothing but the truth in its rawest form.

“I mean it, Billy. I love you.”

Billy tried to turn his head, smirk slipping away as Steve kept him still, voice quiet and sharp.

“Shut up.”

Billy was growing more solid, his edges glowing faintly, more substantial beneath Steve’s hands.

“I love you.”

Fresh tears welled up in Billy’s eyes, solid enough now for Steve to see the sclera for the first time.

“Steve.”

There was something swelling in the room, like an operatic crescendo beyond hearing, pressing them together with an invisible force. Steve took a deep breath, pushing all of his love in Billy’s direction as the glow became more and more intense until it was nearly blinding.

Still, Steve never looked away.

“I love you, Billy. With all my heart.”

The glow faded slowly, in soft, gradual pulses until Billy was just standing there, nothing special about him apart from his exceptional beauty.

He looked solid, and real, and.

Normal.

Billy looked alive.

He felt alive, under Steve’s hands. Warm and vibrant, thrumming with heat and vigor and energy.

Trembling, even.

Shaking, really.

Billy stumbled backwards, out of Steve’s arms, staring at his own hands with wide eyes.

“What is this?”

Maybe it was Steve that was trembling, adrenaline pumping through his veins with a surge of excitement.

“I don’t. I don’t know. You—god, Billy. Look at you. You’re so solid.”

The solid oak front door was about as translucent as Billy, now.

Billy’s lips parted with shock as he turned his hand over like he had never seen it before, slapping it to his own chest to grasp at his heart, shirt twisting beneath his fingers.

“What did you do? What the—What the hell is this? I feel. I. My body is. What the—the fuck?”

He abruptly turned and punched the wall with his fist, yelling and cursing as he pulled it back with a shake.

“Oh, fuck me, that hurt like a sonofabitch!”

Billy looked down at his split open knuckles and sat so quickly that it was more like falling, his weight thudding against the floor.

“I’m bleeding.”

Steve got down on his knees in front of him, taking his hand to examine the damage. Not too bad, thankfully, just a scrape.

He cupped Billy’s hand in both of his as he looked into his pale face. Billy had more color to him when he was see-through. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Oh, no, are you one of those guys that faints at the sight of blood?”

Billy yanked his hand out of Steve’s grip with an irritated scoff, lifting his knuckles to his mouth to lick the wound like an animal as he glared at Steve.

“No, knucklehead. I’m fucking bleeding! Ghosts don’t bleed! What the fuck?”

His color started coming back, finally. Steve hadn’t realized that Billy had a golden tan beneath those freckles.

Steve got an idea and shot immediately into action, which was how he reacted to most ideas.

He slapped one hand flat on Billy’s chest, ignoring his exaggerated wince and grunt as he lifted the other hand to his throat, pressing tight into the side to feel whether—

“You have a pulse.”

Billy shoved his own fingers under Steve’s, eyes like dinner plates as he quickly felt his wrist to double check, voice cracking with shock.

“Holy shit. What the hell, are you a fucking fairytale princess or something?”

If it was possible to injure yourself from smiling too hard, Steve was about to find out, hands running over every warm, solid inch of Billy that he could reach.

“Dunno. But I think we should try to seal the deal with true love’s kiss, don’t you? Just in case, to make sure it sticks.”

He barely had time to draw breath before Billy tackled him to the floor, lips crashing down on his like the answer to every prayer Steve had never said aloud.

Warm and wet and achingly real.

Billy pulled back for air after several long, perfect minutes to stare down at Steve, pinning him down with his not-insignificant weight.

“Oh, my god. Steve. I’m not dead. What the fuck. I can—I can feel you. For real, no distance. I want to—why the fuck are you wearing CLOTHES?”

Struggling out of his date clothes was no easy task with Billy helping as he chanted “off off off” and ripped the seams open on Steve’s favorite striped polo.

He groaned like Steve had hurt him as Steve pushed Billy’s jacket off his shoulders and hiked up his shirt to lick a long stripe up his warm, solid chest.

For the first time, Steve realized that he could smell him. That he couldn’t before.

Billy smelled like—like cigarettes, and motor oil, and warm, dark leather, and Steve wanted to inject it directly into his lungs.

He snuffled at his chest and neck, going up to his hair and taking in the thick, herbal scent of his pomade while Billy laughed as though he was so full of happiness that it escaped like an air leak.

“God, baby. You feel amazing. You taste amazing. I’m gonna lick every gorgeous inch of you, gonna take you the fuck apart, princess.”

Steve bit his neck, tongue laving at Billy’s warm pulse as he muttered his response.

“Promises, promises.”

The world dipped and tilted as Billy pushed up to his knees and scooped Steve into his arms, lifting him bodily with a satisfied grunt.

“Fuck yeah. Gonna do this everyday until I can get a set of weights.”

Steve clung to his neck, torn khakis dangling off of one leg as Billy carried him to the bed, dropping him onto the mattress with a wolfish grin.

“Dunno how you did it, baby, but you—you brought me back to life. You’re a goddamned miracle.”

He pressed hot, wet kisses to Steve’s skin between every word, dribbling off his jeans and kicking off his boots.

“Tell you the first thing I’m gonna do now that I got this body back. I’m gonna fuck you into next week, pretty boy.”

Steve hauled Billy’s shirt off over his head, still smiling.

“Yeah? And what’s the second thing you’re gonna do?”

Billy paused in nuzzling his face into Steve’s thighs to cast opaque blue eyes up at Steve from under thick lashes, voice a growl against his skin.

“I’m gonna move us out of this fucking house.”

When Billy had been a ghost, his tongue had felt good. Distant and a bit faint, but good.

Now, it was devastating.

Licking and lapping and fucking scrubbing as every inch of Steve’s skin that he could reach. Greedily sucking mouthfuls of flesh into his mouth with a filthy, muted snarl. Lifting Steve’s balls with a long cupped tongue before sucking them down one by one, and then both at the same time, tongue flicking over them inside the warm, wet cavern of Billy’s mouth.

Steve gasped and squirmed on the bed, legs closing around Billy’s head until his sweet, prominent ears pressed against his thighs.

He carded his fingers through Billy’s hair, surprised to find that it felt less greasy than it looked. Curls sprung loose from their upcombed hold to catch and twine around Steve’s fingers, as reluctant to let go as he was.

He tugged, just a little, and Billy groaned against the base of his cock, humping the mattress while he worked his way up the shaft with hot, open-mouthed kisses, voice rumbling against his skin.

“Taste amazing, sweetheart. Can’t wait for you to come down my throat.”

Steve keened at that, letting his legs fall open, draped over the broad line of Billy’s shoulders.

Billy got up to the head, tongue swiping at the pearl of precum beading at the tip with a sharp breath before sucking hard at the head while one rough hand came up to work the shaft, coaxing another bead to the top.

Steve could feel the texture of his hands, now. Working man’s hands, rich with callouses and thick with muscle.

Billy pulled back to look up into Steve’s face, lower lip still connected to Steve’s cock by a thin, stretching line of saliva.

“Fuck, Steve. Baby, you taste so good. Gonna have to milk you dry for me every fucking day, just to get a taste.”

And, alright. Steve didn’t hate the sound of that.

He traced over Billy’s pink lips, yelping out a laugh when he turned his head to nip at Steve’s fingers with his teeth, laughter drying up when he sucked Steves index finger down to the last knuckle, tongue curling deftly around before releasing him with a pop.

The sound Steve made when Billy immediately replaced that finger with his cock would have been humiliating if Billy hadn’t growled and jerked his hips in response.

Steve hit the back of his throat, petting at his hair and holding his hips respectfully still, not wanting to choke him.

And then choking on air himself when Billy hunched his shoulders, angled his head, and took Steve seamlessly down his throat.

“Oh! Whoa, fuck. I—Billy! I can’t, how did you?”

Billy’s only answer was the slick, obscene sound of him slowly fucking his throat on Steve’s cock. Nobody had ever deep throated Steve before, and it was.

Transcendent.

Billy’s throat was all tight, wet heat, silky soft skin and rippling muscle and Steve was absolutely doomed.

“Billy. Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop doing that. Oh, god!”

The sound of Steve’s cock releasing from Billy’s throat was filthy and Steve was going to play it over and over in his head every time he jerked off for the rest of his life.

Billy voice was wrecked, lips swollen and wet.

“Fuck yes, come in my mouth, Steve. I wanna taste it.”

He allowed himself one deep, ragged breath before taking Steve’s cock back down his throat, hands clutching Steve’s ass, encouraging him to thrust into Billy’s heat.

It only took two pumps before he was pulsing hot down his throat with a cry, holding on to Billy’s hair as Billy pulled back to catch the rest on his tongue, eagerly sucking at Steve’s cockhead.

Steve had to pull him off as he grew too sensitive, twisting his hips with a whimper when Billy chased him down for one last, hard suck before releasing him with a grin.

He sat up on his knees, slapping Steve’s inner thigh.

“We’re doing that every goddamned day. Holy shit.”

Steve pushed up onto his elbow, cupping the other hand gently around Billy’s throat, lips still parted and panting after the orgasm Billy had ripped from him.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

Billy, who had just taken Steve’s cock down his throat and shamelessly swallowed his load, blushed like a virgin, gaze breaking away from Steve’s to fall to the bed.

Steve sat up further, softly stroking the warm skin of his throat.

“Oh, shit, did I, baby? Here, let me go get you some water.”

Billy reached out to grab Steve’s hand as he tried to gracelessly stumble from the bed, tugging him back.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just. Nobody’s ever. You know you don’t gotta sweet-talk me, right, punk?”

Oh.

Something clenched in Steve’s chest at the thought that Billy had only ever known rough hands and rough words. That nobody had ever taken the time to treat him sweet.

To love him.

Steve wrapped his legs around Billy’s hips, pulling him close as he let his fingers caress his face, tracing whisper-soft across his thick eyebrows and down over his cheeks.

“Get used to it, babe. I’m gonna talk as sweet as I want to my beautiful,” he kissed Billy’s eyelids as he eyes drifted shut, skin burning with the force of his blush beneath Steve’s lips, “amazing, incredible love.”

Billy buried his face in Steve’s neck, arms clamping down around him to hold him tight. His lashes fluttered, and Steve felt telltale wetness against his skin.

He kissed Billy’s head, rubbing circles over his strong back.

“I’m so happy, sweetheart. So glad you’re here with me, now. I love you, Billy.”

Billy curled his bulk in as small as he could go, burrowing into Steve’s arms as he whispered against his throat.

“You. Steve, you. You gotta know I—I do. You too.”

It was close enough to saying the words that Steve’s heart did an Irish jig as he petted the last of the pomade from Billy’s hair.

“I know, baby. It’s okay. I know it’s hard to say the words.”

Billy reared back, eyebrows lowered ominously.

“You saying I’m too chicken to say the words, punk?”

His fucked-raw throat gave his voice an extra rumble that made Steve’s spent dick twitch against his thigh.

“No, I just—”

Billy’s fingers dug into his sides insistently, face drawn down into a scowl.

“I love you, asshole. And I’m not fucking scared to say it.”

So tough. So hard. So terrified, that he was shaking, every muscle a fine tremor under Steve’s caressing hands.

Steve ducked low to plant tiny kisses beneath his jaw, making neat rows all the way to his ear to whisper softly.

“My brave, amazing love.”

The air whooshed out of him when Billy shoved him backwards, climbing over him with such loving, eager aggression that Steve could only laugh with delight.

“Gonna make it real plain for you, baby. Gonna kiss every gorgeous goddamned inch of you. Turn the fuck over.”

He gave Steve’s hip a little slap, sitting back on his knees to make room.

When Steve didn’t move fast enough for his tastes, he gave a little huff and flipped him onto his belly with one seemingly effortless heave of his arms, which was.

Just.

Insanely hot. Fuck.

Steve wasn’t exactly a tiny guy. Billy was fucking built.

He manhandled Steve into place, knees tucked up beneath him and spread wide, head and shoulders down on the mattress.

Steve twisted his neck to look back at Billy who was just staring at his ass, mouth dropped open to let his tongue trace across his lower lip.

“You gonna, what was it you said? Eat my cake?”

Billy took a firm handful of Steve’s ass, squeezing hard.

“Poundcake, baby. Thick and rich,” he smacked Steve’s ass just to watch it jiggle, his other hand dropping down to stroke his hard cock, “and so fucking sweet.”

He swooped low to take a mouthful of Steve’s ass between his teeth, biting down just enough to make Steve squawk before dragging his face across to the other side to suck in another mouthful, Steve prepared for the bite this time.

The little edge of pain went straight to his dick, plumping up where it hung between his legs. He gave a breathless cry as Billy took a third bite, growling into Steve’s ass.

“I didn’t think, when you said eat, that you meant it so literally.”

Billy sucked hard enough to leave a mark, thumbing over his handiwork contentedly.

“I’m a man of my word, princess. No pillow biting, I wanna hear you.”

Both broad thumbs came up to spread Steve open, holding him in place while Billy leaned in to puff a warm, teasing breath right where Steve was most vulnerable.

Steve let out the shocked, high sound he would have bitten back if Billy hadn’t asked him not to.

Billy rewarded him with a long, firm lick across his hole. He paused before doing it again, and then again, faster and sloppier as he started making his own noises. Grunts and growls and satisfied hums directly into Steve’s hole while he licked him open.

Steve held onto his pillow, keeping his head turned to let Billy hear him cry out his name as he wriggled his tongue just inside.

To let him hear Steve beg and plead and descend into incoherence as he added his fingers, spitting on them noisily before working them inside, flicking his tongue around the rim while he stretched Steve open.

“Ready, I’m ready, I’m—fuck, Billy! Please.”

Billy chuckled against his fingers as he twisted them deeper, finding Steve’s spot and rubbing relentlessly.

“Oh! Billy, Billy I—oh, god. Please, please fuck me.”

Billy pushed up to drape himself over Steve’s back, fingers still working as he licked the burning shell of his ear.

“So pretty when you beg. Do you have any idea, pretty boy, what you’ve been doing to me every night? Fucking yourself on your sweet little fingers, knowing I was watching you? Knowing how bad I wanted to touch you?”

His voice broke, face rubbing hard into the back of Steve’s neck as he pulled his fingers out slowly, gently.

“You made me wish I was alive again, just to touch you like this. Just to feel you fall apart in my arms like the miracle you are.”

He wrapped his arms around Steve with a gentle squeeze, face pressed hard into his neck.

“I can. I can feel you, sweetheart.”

Steve covered Billy’s hand on his chest with his own, tugging it up to his lips to kiss his knuckles, nuzzle into his palm.

“Want to feel you inside me, Billy. Please. You feel so good.”

Billy kissed the knobs of Steve’s spine down to his shoulders before leaning off to the side to rifle through the drawer and return with the lube.

“Hold on, princess. I’ve got you.”

He warmed it in his hands before pressing slick fingers inside Steve, and Steve was never going to take his sweet, constant warmth for granted. It was a gift, every time they touched.

Billy murmured low as he got Steve nice and wet.

“This shit is so much better than what we had. Vaseline and spit. Pomade, one time, with this guy that—well. You don’t wanna hear about that.”

Steve absolutely did want to hear about that, but. Later.

Much later.

After he had finally gotten to feel Billy alive and warm inside him.

He pushed back on Billy’s fingers with an insistent whine, earning himself a huff of laughter and a smack on the ass.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you? Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna take good goddamned care of you.”

Steve could hear the slick sound of Billy’s hand on his cock and then he was lining up, hot and thick and everything Steve’s dreams were made of.

His mouth dropped open around a heavy moan, drool already collecting in the corners.

“Oh, fuck. You feel incredible, Billy.”

Billy grunted as the head popped inside, hands kneading Steve’s hips.

“Haven’t even gotten inside you yet, baby. You just wait. I’m gonna show you a real good time.”

He pressed in by careful inches, pulling out almost to the tip before repeating the process over and over until Steve was squirming impatiently.

“Come on, come on, please hurry up. I need it. I need you, Billy.”

Billy’s hands tightened on his hips as Steve tried to press back, holding him in place.

“Don’t wanna hurt you. Let me go slow this time, really feel you all around me.”

Steve whimpered at that, at the sweet curl of emotion in Billy’s voice. The shattered-glass vulnerability he was letting Steve see. He fumbled a hand back to wrap around Billy’s wrist at his hip.

Just, holding on.

Reveling in his solidity.

“Okay. Okay, Billy. I’m sorry, I just want you so bad.”

Billy pressed deep inside just as he bent low to kiss Steve’s back between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t gotta be sorry. You’re perfect, baby.”

He bottomed out with a grunt, face scrunching up against the skin of Steve’s back and Steve wanted nothing more than to see him. He craned his head to look back at Billy’s expression, immediately captivated by his intensity.

Billy’s head hung low between hunched shoulders, the muscles of his arms cast in stark relief as he held on to Steve like he was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Blonde curls were already damp with sweat, curled into loose, messy ringlets around his face.

Deep blue eyes burned down at Steve when he caught him looking, hips pulling back only to snap forward so hard their skin slapped together.

Steve made an embarrassing noise that sounded like he had hiccoughed while moaning and a smug, satisfied grin spread across Billy’s face, all swollen red lips and sharp white teeth.

He did it again.

And again.

Until he worked up a rhythm punctuated by slapping skin and Steve’s helpless noises, a warning growl building in his chest when Steve tried to muffle his face in the pillow.

“Oh, I don’t think so, kitten. Told you I wanted to hear you.”

Thick fingers carded gently through Steve’s hair before pulling his head up from the mattress, bowing his back into a tight line, neck arched as far as it could go.

Steve let his mouth hang open, all of those noises Billy wanted to hear spilling out like overflowing wine.

Billy hissed through his teeth at the new angle, having to switch to short, hard thrusts while he held Steve in place, his free hand stroking up Steve’s stomach to pull at his nipples until they were stiff and sore, sending pleasure coursing down a direct line to his aching dick.

“Gorgeous, baby. Christ, look at you. Take it so well, pretty boy. You ready to come for me?”

Steve tried to nod, crying out Billy’s name when the motion pulled his hair, tiny pinpricks of pain sending little electric shocks to his dick.

Billy released Steve’s hair, letting him collapse back onto the mattress with a distraught whine.

Billy shushed him gently as he pulled out, guiding Steve to lie on his back, limbs splayed like a sex-drunk chalk outline.

That tongue reappeared, moistening Billy’s lips while he took in the sight of Steve.

“Wanna watch you. Love seeing that pretty face while you come all over yourself. Love the way you like to be seen, preening for me, baby. Love the way you always make such a fucking mess of yourself.”

Steve lifted his hips insistently, making grabby hands up at Billy until he laughed, eyes sparkling, and fitted himself back against Steve, pushing in slow and sweet.

In this position, Steve got to touch Billy as much as he wanted.

Which was.

A lot.

Eager hands glided over warm, smooth skin, making a topographical map of all the places Steve had been aching to feel.

Here, the dip of Billy’s back right above his ass, the divot of his spine arching between thick rows of muscle.

Here, the rounded mass of his shoulders, rolling and bunching as he got down on his elbows, one hand cupping the back of Steve’s head.

Here, the sweet curve of his ear, leading up to handfuls of soft, damp curls, twining so lovingly around his fingers that Steve may never leave.

It was bliss, to have Billy real and warm and solid against him.

Inside him.

Sliding in smooth. Slow, now. Taking his time.

“Look at me, beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes snapped to Billy’s face as he wrapped his legs around his waist, hands coming up over his shoulders to hold on tight.

“Incredible.”

He wasn’t sure if Billy even knew he was talking, his eyes were so focused on Steve’s face as his lips barely moved around a whisper of sound.

Steve hitched his legs up higher against his sides as Billy started thrusting faster, catching and sliding over Steve’s sweet spot in endless rolling waves until Steve was incoherent with pleasure.

“That’s it, baby. God, you sound as good as you feel.”

Billy leaned on one elbow so he could the other hand down Steve’s chest, making a detour to tweak his nipple before landing on his neglected cock and taking it in a tight grip.

Steve could feel the warmth and texture of Billy’s fingers, callouses rasping just enough to make Steve leak over his knuckles at the first stroke.

He bucked up into Billy’s fist, clawing down his back as he came with a shout, Billy’s name echoing against the walls of their room.

Billy groaned, dipping his head to lick the stripes of cum from Steve’s chest as his hips pumped at a fever pitch, muscles bunching with a grunt while he filled Steve up in a long series of hot, wet pulses.

Steve let his arms and legs flop to the bed, expecting Billy to roll off himonto the mattress.

Billy didn’t do that.

What Billy did instead, was huff a deep, contented sigh into the hollow of Steve’s throat before crawling down the bed, pausing to lick up Steve’s cum here and there until he lay between Steve’s spread legs, eyes still burning.

Steve craned his neck to peer down at him, lifting a tired hand to pet clumsily at the top of his head.

“What’re you doing? Get back up here.”

Billy bit Steve’s thumb when he tried to cup his chin and guide him back up, flashing a grin when Steve loudly complained.

“No. I wanna see.”

Steve rolled his head back on the pillow, eyes falling shut as he lazily inquired.

“See what?”

He squeaked, thighs attempting to clamp shut only to be blocked by Billy’s shoulders as Billy hooked both thumbs into his rim to pull him open, staring at his handiwork.

“Billy! Oh, my god.”

Billy brought one hand up to hold him still, palm flat over Steve’s pelvic bone while the first two fingers of his other hand prodded gently at his loose, sloppy hole.

“Wanna see where I filled you up. Christ, you look good full of me.”

Steve’s slapped both hands over his burning face as he felt some of it drip out of him, leaking around Billy’s fingers.

“Billy. I can’t.”

Billy rubbed his face against Steve’s thigh, fingers slipping deeper with an obscene, wet sound that made Steve squirm against the sheets.

“I think you can. You feel almost as good around my fingers as you did around my cock, baby. Feel like a dream.”

Lazily scooping a glob of his cum from Steve’s skin, Billy pushed it back inside with a twist of his fingers and Steve’s spent, tired, overworked dick gave a feeble twitch.

Of course Billy noticed.

“Holy shit, you love this.”

Steve whined and pushed at his shoulders while Billy laughed, still buried up to the knuckle.

“No, you dick, I just love you!”

It took pleas and promises to let Billy eat him out bent over the kitchen counter before Billy relented, easing his fingers out to crawl up Steve’s body and lay beside him.

Billy manhandled him onto his side almost immediately, spooning up close behind him to curl together in a sweaty, sticky mess and holding him so tightly it was almost painful.

It was bliss.

After a few minutes of catching their breath, Billy let out a delighted sound, looking back over his own shoulder.

“You marked me up with those little claws, kitten. Fuck, that’s hot.”

Steve would be lying if he disagreed. He also secretly kind of hoped Billy didn’t get over his obsession with cum because, holy shit.

He didn’t exactly mind.

Billy gathered him close, pressing warm kisses to his neck, hair a riot of golden curls on Steve’s pillow.

“Got a confession to make.”

Steve flicked the knuckles of the hand over his chest with an exhausted, thoughtful hum.

“Oh? What’s that?”

Billy held him tight, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Remember when I said I love you?”

Steve went stiff in his arms, waiting for the hammer to fall. Billy stroked his hand over Steve’s chest and belly in slow, soothing circles as he spoke low into his ear.

“I kinda left out the hopeless part. I’m hopelessly in love with you, Steve. You are, literally, my reason for living.”

Steve must have absorbed that blinding glow from earlier because he could feel it inside himself, filling up his chest as he turned his head to kiss Billy softly, absorbing the fine trembling in his lips and giving back a smile.

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me. Who else is gonna fuck a dead guy?”

Billy’s chest shook with his high, surprised laughter, squeezing Steve tightly with both arms before sobering with a groan.

“Fuck. You’re right. How am I gonna get a job and shit? Got no papers or any shit like that.”

Steve thought of deadly dimensions and government labs and contracts he had signed and—

“You know, I think it’ll be alright. I can make some calls to get you sorted out. There’s some people out there that owe me a favor or two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! 
> 
> Eating Poundcake is a genuine, authentic mid century term for rimming.
> 
> I am using it forever because it is the best.
> 
> Many thanks to SheWritesDirty for helping me do my extensive research for this haunted rimjob fic.
> 
> What did you think? Let’s not delve too deeply into the magic that brought Billy back to life, okay? 
> 
> It’s just, like. The Power Of Love! 
> 
> Now go read everyone else’s fics!!!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at heck-in-a-handbasket.tumblr.com and acthomasbooks.tumblr.com
> 
> Or Twitter.com/acthomas_books
> 
> For random shitposting and ficlets too tiny to post here.
> 
> I also have my first actual LGBTQ+ romance book coming out next week I’ll put all the details there if anyone is interested in my other writing.


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